


An assignment

by valiantfindekano



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: M/M, matsuri is way more invested in this than urie, no one else was writing it, some casual office smooching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8684137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantfindekano/pseuds/valiantfindekano
Summary: “Special Class…?” He speaks quietly, but Matsuri still looks up sharply at the interruption. “I’ve ordered them in what I believe is the right balance between urgency and importance ( I hope you’ll agree. ) Where would you like me to…” The thought goes unfinished, however, as Matsuri simply reaches over and pulls the stack of papers out of his hand, setting them to the side.





	

In retrospect, it was all there, written out in the tiny gestures and unconscious reactions. Urie just wonders at what point Matsuri became aware of it himself.

( Parted lips, a hitch in his breath. Hands that linger too long and too close. )

Matsuri hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d announced there was paperwork to finish. The desk is drowning in it. Still, when Urie hears the quiet acknowledgement to enter the room, he merely finds his boss with the chair angled towards the window instead. Head propped up in one hand, vacant expression, fountain pen ready to drop out of still fingers and onto the floor.

“Special Class Washū.” As he always does, Urie pauses a few paces away from his superior’s desk, gloved hands clasped behind his back. “I came to see if there is anything I can do for you.” He tries not to stare at the papers. Some of those probably have confidential information in them, not suited for the eyes of a Rank 1 ( however well favoured he might be. )

“Urie.” Good – the reverie seems to be broken. Matsuri turns in his chair ( Urie doesn’t miss the way his boss’s eyes scan over his suit, lingering … ) “Can I trust you to read some of these letters? I want them sorted in order of priority.”

Urie nods stiffly. “May I stay here?” Not too bold of a request this time, under the assumption that some of those letters would be better off not leaving the room.

“Please.”

There’s a chair off to the side of the room, which Urie takes a moment to position on his side of the desk before settling into it ( and folding his legs in such a way that Matsuri might accidentally brush against them if he goes reaching for another piece of paper. ) A moment later, Matsuri is setting a set of printed letters in front of him. Thirty? Forty? It’s an awful lot of paper.

The look Matsuri gives him is suspiciously like a warning, Urie finds, but he ignores that for now. First matter of business: remove his gloves so he doesn’t accidentally tear the paper. His teeth grab the leather, and he tugs it away from his fingers before easing his hands free.  

( Ah, there. A quiet catch of breath. )

He’s suddenly aware of how bare his hands feel.

Still, his presence seems to have motivated Matsuri to ( resume? ) work. The other man adjusts his glasses, presses against his temple to stave off whatever headache is plaguing him, and begins writing in neat pen strokes on a half-completed form.

The letter on the top of the set assigned to Urie appears to be more of a complaint than a request, which makes it reasonably low priority, but also easy enough to address with an assurance that reparations will be made as soon as the threat is neutralized. It is from a politician, but a minor one. Medium importance, then. He sets it down in front of them.

Next … request from the 16th Ward. Deploy more troops to match the number currently stationed in the 5th. They’ll be assessing available numbers and assignments anyway, so that one can go in the category of top priority.

In truth, it’s comfortable sitting quietly with something to focus on, the only sounds the scratching of Matsuri’s pen and the turning of pages, and the occasional footsteps and voices passing by in the corridor ( less than there used to be; HQ is too quiet these days. ) It’s almost a surprise when Urie realises he’s down to the last of the letters, blinking with the realization of how much time must have passed.

“Special Class…?” He speaks quietly, but Matsuri still looks up sharply at the interruption. “I’ve ordered them in what I believe is the right balance between urgency and importance ( I hope you’ll agree. ) Where would you like me to…” The thought goes unfinished, however, as Matsuri simply reaches over and pulls the stack of papers out of his hand, setting them to the side.

“If only there was a way to reward you,” Special Class Matsuri muses, “for your loyalty.”

( There is. Idiot. ) Urie resists the urge to grit his teeth. ( I could be an Associate Special Class. You once raised Mutsuki by two ranks. Haven’t I proven myself yet? ) “Service is its own reward, Special Class.”

… He’s going to gag on his own words.

It has the desired effect, however – Matsuri smiles. Adjusts his glasses. His hand hovers for a second, then reaches out. He has to lean forward a little so that he can reach, his fingers settling against the curve of Urie’s cheek, trailing down towards his jawline. Then it becomes clinical – a tilt of Urie’s head, maybe to catch the light, like he’s analyzing something in a laboratory.

Urie swallows, and knows that his boss is watching his throat bob up and down, but he says nothing.

( It’s not like he didn’t anticipate this. Matsuri’s lingering glances and dilated eyes, his quick breaths and increasing heartbeat. It’s not like he wasn’t proud that he could inspire such a response, but …  

Now would be a bad time to mention that he’s never been kissed, wouldn’t it? )

As it is, he doesn’t get the chance.

Matsuri’s kiss is surprisingly gentle. ( It’s nothing like Urie expected. ) The hand that isn’t holding the side of his face goes to grip Urie’s sleeve, tugging gently until both of them are half-standing over the desk, before sliding down to pin Urie’s bare hand against the desk.

( … ! )

For a moment, Urie’s mind goes blank. He registers the taste of his boss’s lips against his, the quiet noise of their breath, discomfort where fingers press against the bones of his wrist. He’s not used to anyone being this close … he’s used to leaning away from touches and shrugging off embraces, not encouraging them.

He doesn’t know how to respond – he must have done something wrong – Matsuri’s pulling away, the hand leaving the side of Urie’s face, and Urie looks down. He doesn’t need to look up to know what the disappointed expression on the Special Class’s face will look like.

But … there’s a slow trace of fingers on the back of his hand now, moving around to his wrist, and despite himself, he shivers. It’s … affectionate? ( He didn’t think Washū Matsuri was capable … )

“Urie.” A slow, thoughtful tone of voice – Urie looks up, and dreads whatever confession is coming next. “I want…”

“My loyalty?” Urie finishes for him. It’s not easy, with a rush of blood in his ears that might be embarrassment or horror, but he manages to keep his voice stable. Almost bored. “You have it, Special Class. May I have another assignment?”

The grip on his hand releases. Urie takes it as an invitation to return to his seat, and after a second, Matsuri echoes the movement.

“These are internal files,” Matsuri informs him as he reaches for another set of papers. The loose pages betray the tremor in his hand, the flutter amplified at their edges, but Urie pretends not to notice. “They are all out of order. Please group them according to topic and Division.”

“Of course, Special Class.”

Urie can see through the top page, outlined in black letters on the letter beneath:

**CONFIDENTIAL**

( It’s not so accidental, therefore, when he adjusts his leg to brush against Matsuri’s beneath the desk, but it is _coincidental_ that biting down on his lip to suppress a satisfied smile seems to have an equal effect. )

 


End file.
